He hates disguise
by Eosneve
Summary: When two friends meet, this leads to a much needed conversation, especially because one of them hates disguise, and the other is in love with an angel, who is currently in London. Warning: AU, what if.
Disclaimer: I hope Jane Austen will forgive me my little twist, as I'm writing this out of love and admiration for her work.

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His letters of business had taken longer than he had expected, undoubtedly due to the distraction of his mind, but at last Fitzwilliam Darcy was able to look up from the desk in his study in his house in London. He pulled himself to a standing, started pacing and finally stopped in front of a window, pressing his forehead against the frozen glass, his dark gaze following the traffic of people and carriages, his mind focused on a certain letter Caroline had held out to him a few days ago.

 _The billiard room was beautiful and well-lighted, and he was conversing and playing billiards with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, while on the smooth, green table the ivory balls rolled noiselessly or clicked colliding._

" _You are joined with me in the guardianship of Georgiana, after all. Therefore, I don't see the need to look so taken by surprise, when I seek your advice. Do you think I ought not?" with these words the Master of Pemberley ended his speech, amused by the look on the other man's face._

" _On the contrary. I'm merely surprised at your seeking anybody's advice. You've always given advice, never taken them."_

 _Darcy's reply was cut off by a footman introducing Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. The Colonel, always thoughtful, excused himself and took his leave, as it was clear the business was private. If anything, he would question his cousin later._

 _So now Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in front of Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, the stick still in his right hand, the elaborately decorated, green-covered table separating him from the two Ladies, Bingley's sisters, as he had to constantly remind himself to be able to at least consider their company tolerable. Yet they would waste his time once more, without a doubt._

 _Miss Bingley handed to him an ivory letter, which he didn't take, reading some words and recognising the elegant sign: Jane Bennet. Mrs Hurst held a similar envelope, surely by the same person._

" _Miss Bennet informed me she is in London," the younger sister stated, with both contempt and concern in her voice._

 _After thinking that his cousin couldn't blame him for giving his advice so often when clearly requested, he nonetheless chose to keep himself away from this._

" _It's brother of yours, not mine," he coolly said, well aware of what they would do next._

 _Miss Bingley brought the note near the flame of the candles, letting it be burnt, before doing the same with the other letter. "Pity," she said, "both her letters went astray."_

He didn't want to admit it, but being presented with that letter had shaken him. He had refused to take it from her hand, not because reading Miss Bingley's correspondence was beneath him (even though it indeed was), but because he didn't want to be involved, not when he knew Charles would soon show up, which he had done - after his sisters had already left – asking who was the winner to defy. They had not spoken of the Hertfordshire or the Bennets, but his friend's heart was still attached to a certain Lady, Darcy could tell that much.

He had been pondering over his next move ever since that day he had known beyond any doubts that Miss Jane Bennet, Bingley's angel, was in Town.

That afternoon, when he and Bingley had played billiards, his silence had been a personal transgression against Charles and their friendship. He hadn't lied, but neither faced the truth. And the truth was Miss Bennet was in London, and he knew it, everyone knew it, except for the one who really deserved it. And this person happened to his best friend.

He could deceive the others, telling that what they were doing was for the best, but not himself and his own honor. Disguise of any sort he hated, concealment he considered shameful. Not only he was deliberately hiding pieces of information from someone, but by doing this, he was misleading a dear friend of his. How could this be friendship? He owed Bingley more than his deception. His honor could not bear to be stained by his lack of honesty, and his pride was rebelling against such a vile act.

* * *

The next evening Bingley was his guest. They were in the billiard room again, but they were not playing, as Darcy didn't feel like it. Yet he preferred that room above any other. They were sitting in front of each other.

"Perhaps you ought to know that a Miss Bennet is in Town," was the deliberately vague sentence by the Master of Pemberley. He needed to know whether his friend still cared for her and how much.

"Which?" Bingley asked with urgency and perhaps hope in his voice.

Darcy could not delay the truth any longer, so he clarified, "Miss Jane Bennet," articulating and studying carefully his friend, who went still and seemed lost in some memories for a moment, before recovering and standing up in excitation and surprise, questioning the older man.

"Then of course I ought to know. Is she in London? Now? Are you sure? Absolutely sure? Who informed you about it? How long she's been here for?"

"Bingley," Darcy interrupted, with a light smile, "now you should give me some time to answer, don't you think?"

His friend merely patted him on the back, before retorting, "Worry not, my _old_ friend," emphasising the _old_ , "I'm perfectly able to breath while talking. But if you are not..." He sat down with a meaningful look and a grin.

Darcy was taken aback by the change in his friend's attitude: he looked relaxed and carefree once more; he looked himself, in one word. And he, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, had Jane Bennet to thank, because a sober, brooding Charles was not an ideal companion. For a long moment, he studied Bingley, wondering at the open enthusiasm he could read on his features, before remembering the reason behind his affection for him: that is, because of his sincerity. He was glad, now, he had chosen to honor his friend's honesty matching it with his own.

He poured a generous amount of liquor into his and his friend's glasses, then resumed, "Miss Bingley," or rather, he tried to resume, as Bingley's eagerness and curiosity could never be satisfied quickly enough.

"Caroline? What of her?"

A sigh from Darcy was his response.

"Sorry, Darcy."

"As I was saying, when you and your sisters were visiting a few days ago, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst came to me with a note from Longbourn, signed by Miss Jane Bennet, which informed them she was in London, and desired the pleasure of their company. They asked for my advice, which I refused, and burnt the Miss Bennet's note" Charles did not need to know there were two letters.

Mr Bingley frowned, an unusual expression on his merry face, and held back an angry retort. Instead, he asked: "Do you know her address? I ought to call on her."

"I do know it, but, if I may be frank, you ought not." Looking at his friend's glowing eyes, Darcy knew that Charles was still infatuated with her. A doubt about the goodness of his honesty wormed his way into his mind, but it was too late, so he went on, "No social convention requires you call on her. In fact, I encourage you not to"

Bingley stared at him suspiciously, "What could this mean?"

"The reasons I gave you after our departing from Netherfield, still stand. Except for her family, her connections and fortune - which should not be ignored anyway - I'm sure yours is not but another mere youthful infatuation you're famous for, and which is not returned, I might add. I do not wish to see you, my friend, hurt by a cold-hearted girl. She is an angel, you say. A goddess, I'd define her, distant and indifferent. Believe me, seeing her would not do any good."

"But she is here, now." He had been easily convinced of his Lady's lack of interest back then, when he was in Town and she still in Longbourn, many and many miles away. Yet now he could not be persuaded. "And you are mistaken: this time is different. This is true love... and... something you can not understand, in any case. But Miss Jane is not like you, she has a warm and compassionate heart. Her sister would not love her so much, if she was like you portray her. At first, I believed you, but now I doubt."

Darcy felt an unusual pain in his chest at his words, while the image of the two older Bennet sisters surfaced in his mind. No, Bingley's accusation was unfair... Just because he didn't like sharing his inner thoughts, exposing his own feelings, and making his own business public, it didn't mean that he had no thoughts or feelings or even a heart at all... As this reflection settled into his mind, he began to wonder whether Miss Bennet could be more similar to him than he had given her credit for, and started debating the consequences of this. The dearest to his heart was the possibility for him to befriend her sister, Elizabeth – since when was she just Elizabeth anyway? The other... was it possible that Miss Bennet indeed had a tender heart and felt a special regard for Charles? They had to know. Had she truly loved his friend, Darcy could not make any objection... And maybe a marriage would lead to another.

"Do not tarry, Charles," he suddenly said, startling the other gentleman, "we have a visit to pay."

The end

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 _ **A/N** Well, I hope you enjoyed! Please, let me know your thoughts! I'm sorry for any mistakes, but English is not my mother tongue._


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